


The Who's Luck Affair

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said that Napoleon Solo has an inordinate amount of luck, where does it come from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Who's Luck Affair

The Who's Luck? Affair

Solo and Kuryakin seemed to have an inordinate amount of luck. Maybe there is a reason. See note at end.

As always, I own nothing pertaining to The Man From U.N.C.L.E. No money is being made by me. Only the fun of being able to write and borrow these characters from time to time. 

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The driver of the car slowly became aware of his immediate environment. His head was resting against something hard and cold. Ice? But how could that be? He had been in a car....hadn't he? He supposed he was going to have to open his eyes to discover the truth of that supposition. Although the cold made his pounding head feel somewhat better and he was loathed to move said head at any time soon. But if he was out of doors and it really was as cold as the hard surface felt, he was going to have to start moving in all haste. 

He found moving painful and slow, but in slight increments he found himself setting in what felt an upright position. Taking slow deep breaths he final worked up the fortitude to open his eyes. Ah, he had been correct in remembering that he had been in a vehicle. He had been, in the fact, the driver and had come to rest with his headed planted against his side window. He gazed blearily out the windshield to find that the nose of the Mustang had first planted it's grill against a very sturdy and solid tree. 

He heaved a deep sigh with a winch. R&D was going not going to be happy. Luckily for them, he was more then a little upset himself. This was a car that was near and dear to his heart. He loved tinkering on it and now? Damn who ever it was that had driven him off the road. He was a better driver then to wind up here on his own. 

“Tovarishch?” It was barely a whisper and more of a groan. 

Ah, well. Not all on his own after all. “Napoleon.”

“Can you give me any insight as to what exactly happened? I feel like I tied one on but have missed the pleasure of enjoying the taste of what ever it was I was drinking.”

“We are off the road and the front of the car is now implanted against a tree.”

“That explains a few things. But exactly what, don't bother to ask. I'm not sure I could articulate.”

“Not to worry my friend. I am having the same disjointed thoughts.”

“Shall we try to make a discrete exit? Seems I recall that the weather forecast is for a heavy snowstorm moving in sometime this evening......oh damn, the door is jammed.”

Illya felt his body lurch slightly as his partner shifted to use his body as leverage to kick the door open. The blows seemed to be pathetically weak but soon there was a pop and a squeak and the weight was gone and he could draw a breath of relief. The pain had been minimal but it still set him on edge. He spent a few moments studying the intriguing staring on his window to regain his composure and equilibrium. 

“Ah.....IK.....I have a decidedly dead body out here.”

A frown wrinkled the blond's forehead. “What was he doing in the woods that he would get run over?”

“Eemm.....try a gunshot wound.”

Illya let his body accomplish a controlled fall to his right then wriggled his way across to the open door and carefully levered himself to stand and moved passed where his partner was holding the door and blocking his view. In reflex he stretched before kneeling and found some of the ache and pain had subsided, somewhat. 

“Napoleon, is there, by any chance, a bit of staring on your window?”

There was a pause as Solo scrutinized the door. “Well, yes. Now that you mention it....you don't think....”

“Yes, I certainly do think. And I am also now certain that there is a similar dead body on my side as well.”

Both men moved around the car and as expected found a body, although it looked like the wound hadn't been immediately fatal. There were signs that he had tried to scramble up the embankment before succumbing to the injury. 

The dark headed American looked at the body, up-slope then down toward the rushing water a few yards away.

“It seems we have a decision to make.”

“There is only one option. They go into the river.”

“No trying to haul them up to the road? There is a car up there you know.”

“I am a pragmatist and practical. We are in no shape to carry dead weight up that slope. It's going to be enough challenge for us, banged up as we are. They meant to send us into that river, alive or dead. Let them experience the same fate. Besides, the car belongs to Thrush. They will be looking for it. May even have built in tracking. I say it goes into the river too.” 

In the end it was as the Russian suggested. It was easier getting the bodies down to the water's edge then it would have trying to wrestle them up to the road. The Mustang was relieved of all the emergency supplies they could carry, wool blankets and matches. A fire would be a must if the temperature dropped any more and it started to snow. 

The struggle up the steep hill found them both winded and spent, but they pushed the car down the hill and watched it disappear into the rushing river. In one accord, they turned and started walking.

IOIOIOIOIOIOI

“It's amazing. Even as bleak and cold as it is, New England has a charm, even in Winter.”

The passenger, a woman, laughed softly. “I wonder, is that because you know that there is going to be a warm house and hot meal waiting for you?”

The driver smiled fondly. “There is that, but no. I don't mind the Winter up here at all. It can be tough, do be sure. But there is something about this time of year here that I like.”

“We're close now, aren't we?”

“About 20 more miles. We should make it before the snow starts. The bulk of the storm is supposed to hit late afternoon early evening.”

“Oh, Matthew!”

The car swerved to miss the two figures trudging along the side of the road and the woman glanced back.

“There hasn't been a house for a while and no car....”

The slight gasp and the breaking of the car brought her attention back to her husband. Matthew was staring out the windshield. She looked too, instinctively, and was not surprised when she didn't see what ever it was the minister was seeing. 

Matthew stopped the car in response to the man standing dead center of the road, both arms held up, palms out. “You must help them. They are not intoxicated as you may think but have been hurt. They need assistance, these brothers of mine. Please.”

Matthew had enough experience with this then to question or ignore the plea. But who was this he was seeing? The man in the road smiled. “Look for me in your books and you will find me. I am Joshua. Captain of the twelve.”

Matthew drew a deep breath then executed a three point turn and headed back, stopping when   
they were drawing even with the walkers. Noticing how they paused and seemed to tense. Matthew slowly opened the door and climbed out.

“The car is warm, if you need a lift.” 

The dark haired man stepped forward. 

“Thank you. I think that would be very much appreciated.”

The smaller blond seemed to be far more reluctant but followed the other man's lead and both approached the car. Matthew moved to open the back door. As the two men slipped into the back seat, Matthew made note of the bruises starting to blossom along the cheek of the blond. Once both men were fully seated, Matthew shut the door, slid behind the wheel and pulled another U-turn. He glanced into the rear view mirror. 

“My name is Matthew Getty my lovely co-pilot is my wife, Georgia. Where are you headed? Are you badly hurt? I could take you to a hospital.”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Getty. That is very generous of you. We were headed for the Portsmouth airport but we were sideswiped by a speeding car. My partner was driving, and though he fought valiantly, he couldn't hold the road. We got pretty well banged around. But beside some bumps we seem to be okay.”

“Portsmouth....that's a few hours drive and a snow storm is settling in. We are going to a little town for a few days and I know the local doctor still makes house calls. You can stay with us until you can make arrangements to get to the airport. How does that sound?”

Solo gave a sigh as his head rested back against the back seat. “That, sir, sounds like a very good idea. Again, thank you.”

“You do know that we are going to have to let our “UNCLE” know of the delay and the circumstances surrounding it.”

“You two share the same uncle?”

“Our family is very international, you might say. The two of us are as close as brothers.” 

“It must be. That accent of yours, British....but I hear something of Eastern Europe...don't I?”

“I was born in the USSR, yes.”

“I thought so. That little town I told you about? It's was settled by Russian exiles and refuges after the last World War. I am a supply priest for them. Russian Orthodox, at least their church is. I am very ecumenical.”

“Yes, I am acquainted with Little Odessa in New York City.”

“You two must be very tired. I'll leave you in peace until we get to the house. Then I'll get Doctor Welsh on the phone.”

“You are most compassionate, but both of us have received blows to the head and need to stay awake. So please, continue talking.”

And so the chatter continued between the four until the vehicle slowed and turned into a narrow lane to stop in front of a large barn. Matthew exited to open a large roll up door just as snowflakes began to float down out of the leaden sky. The wind started picking up.

Georgia ushered their two guests into the house to find it warm with wood stoves belching out heat. Once she had made them comfortable in a parlor with a fireplace and laid the fire in it, she said she would see what had been prepared for their supper and disappeared. 

Solo let himself sink into the warmth and comfort of the sofa. 

“Looks like the my luck is holding up. Of course you and R&D coming up with that bullet proof glass wasn't a bad thing either.”

“Mmmmm....and the fact that the doors jammed so that they couldn't simply open them and shoot us while we were incapacitated?”

“Yes. Well, doors do have the tendency to stick when their frames are bent.”

“True. If they don't simply pop open due to pressure being exerted....”

“Yes, yes, I get the picture. But they didn't and it saved our lives.”

Illya started to shake his head only to have his eyes cross and his head drop with a soft moan.

“Please, Napoleon. Do remind me not to do that again.”

“What? Shake your head or cross your eyes?”

“Both, preferably.”

“Are you feeling nauseous at all, Tovarishch?”

“No. How are you feeling?”

“Like I've gone a few rounds with the Crusher from Dover. But I've gone through worse.”

A bustling brought both their heads up to find Georgia carrying in a couple of folded TV trays. 

The two men started to slide forward but she hushed them.

“You rest. Denny and his wife readied the stoves and put a stew on the stove to simmer for our supper. I'll bring you in a bowl. Matt and I usually eat in here in the Winter. It's warm and cozy. We have called Doctor Welsh and he said he'd be more then glad to come over.” With that she hustled away. 

Matthew joined them a minutes later and the next hour was relaxed and enjoyable. After everyone was finished, Georgia cleared away and Matthew moved to the a corner of the room where a built in bookcase graced one whole wall. Being a supply priest he had to read up on all the different denominations that he might be asked to service. He knew the story of Joshua from the old testament. But what did that have to do with these two men? 

Then a title seemed to jump out at him, “Beyond The Pale”* Taking it down he leafed through to the index. Here were stories of human's and non-humans that had gained sainthood through concenses of popular belief if not through canonization of the Catholic church. Dogs**, mermaids*** and such. He carried the book to the overstuffed chair by the fire and began to run down through the index once again. Finding the heading pertaining to a Joshua he turned to the page number. 

To say that he was surprised at what he was reading might have been an understatement. Joshua had been appointed the head of twelve spies that had been appointed by Moses to scout out the Land of Canaan before the Israelits would cross the River Jordan. He was regarded to be the patron saint of spies and those who worked gathering intelligence and worked in the field of espionage.****

He studied the two men on the his sofa as he slowly closed the book. Spies? Intelligence agents? He sighed. Then shook himself mentally. They had been open and honest about who they were and where they were from, up to and including being from the USSR. And if the very heavens were watching out for these men, had asked him to do the same, no less, he would not refuse them.

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*Beyond the Pale: A website 

**There are at least two dogs who were made saints. Guinefort from 13th Century France and Saint Gelert of Wales. 

***St. Murgen of Northern Wales. 

****And yes, St. Joshua is the patron saint of spies and those who work in the field of Intelligence and Espionage.


End file.
